all the wants, and all the needs
by thimblings
Summary: In which Dean won't admit he misses Sam so he gets drunk and bothers his angel instead.  Castiel just gets to be emotionally confused and annoyed. Dean/Cas.
1. Chapter 1

Has the first chapter of this always been wrong? AHHHH. Well, now it's hopefully right? Considering this is my favorite chapter of the whole thing GUUUHHHH. It'll get finished soon too, just got done with my bad class so MORE TIME TO WRITE.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

When Castiel arrives, Dean is already pretty hammered.

He's slumped on the bed, Jack Daniels in one hand, remote in the other and Castiel feels like he should be getting glared at for appearing right in front of the T.V. but Dean just gives him a sloppy smile. "Hey, Cas, 'bout time," he slurs and he brings the bottle to his mouth in a swift motion.

Castiel shifts uncomfortably. Something about this doesn't seem as urgent as Dean's text message had made it sound. Based off the fact that Dean had decided to send him a _text_, and a poorly spelled one at that, rather than call him, though…Maybe Castiel could have put two and two together if the words _Dean_ and _in trouble_ didn't tend to send him into an almost embarrassing state of frantic worry.

His hand twitches on the blade he had been so ready to attack with and he steadies his gaze on Dean. "You called me," he says simply. The _why_ is implied and generally he thinks Dean would realize this, but Dean just continues to look at him with a heavy fog over his eyes and a crooked grin and he takes a long gulp from the bottle, wincing as he pulls it away. "You said you were in danger," he continues. He glances around, but puts the blade away.

If he was in danger of _anything_, it would probably be the tacky orange wallpaper.

Dean laughs at this, a little too hard and motions with the remote for Castiel to come closer. Cas being _Cas_ does as he's silently told and moves closer until Dean tells him to stop, which just so happens to be when he's up against the bed about a foot from where Dean's head is leaned against the headboard and he stands very still, confused. "Yes, Dean," and it's supposed to be a question, but his gravelly, frustrated voice doesn't tilt quite right and angels aren't used to using question marks anyway.

Dean just beckons him to lean down, and Cas can smell the whiskey and the sweat and he scrunches up his nose involuntarily. He leans towards Dean's face with as much confusion as an angel can show and stares at the headboard as Dean comes forward towards his ear. Castiel assumes he's trying to whisper something, but Dean crashes into the side of his face instead, lips in a smile pressed sloppily to his cheekbone, almost on his eye. It's a hot and wet kind of kiss, full of some kind of drunken enthusiasm and Castiel is startled and confused and _prickly _until he realizes that Dean's actually trying to _say_ something. His mouth is moving but no intelligible words are coming out and then he flops back on the bed like he said what he had to say and looks at the T.V. again.

"Dean, what," and Cas grabs his shoulder. Frustrated and confused and _what is Dean doing this for I think he might be broken and where is Sam_. The last part seems like a good question, so he asks it, calm and simple and Dean scoffs, drinking another big gulp of the bottle before he shakes his head.

"We're 'finding ourselves,'" he says, and there's a weird tone to his voice that Castiel can't place. Maybe that _sarcasm_ thing that Dean keeps trying to teach him to understand, and it makes sense because the whole concept of sarcasm sounds like it would be irritating and Cas can feel the frustration bubbling inside of him again. "We decided to split up before your dick brothers got to us. Or demons. Whichever comes first. Everyone tries to use our 'bond' or whatever the fuck against us and you know what, just fuck them because. …Because." He's reaching but not finding anything so he just leaves it at that with a shrug, like he said exactly what he wanted to. "Lay down or somethin' Cas, you're making me dizzy with you being all tall and shit."

"Dean, I'd really rather not." He's standing straight now and he shifts on his feet again, not happy that Dean's continuing to make him feel uncomfortable. It's not a normal feeling for him or any angel, and that just makes him slightly angry. Dean gives him a large frown, patting the bed next to him more than a little too hard and Castiel sighs, sitting down, leaning against the head board a little straighter than Dean, with their shoulders pressed together. "Dean," he starts, but Dean's already turning up the sound on the T.V. and telling him something about dinosaurs and how _damn I wish that place existed in real life, you and me could go and see a T-Rex and maybe Sammy would cry some of his man tears at seeing a brontosaurus for the first time because that's his favorite dinosaur, did I ever tell you that Cas?_

Castiel frowns. "That's not what dinosaurs looked like, Dean," he says pointedly, but Dean's not listening to him. He's bobbing his head to the sweeping soundtrack that starts up and he points at the screen at the man in the hat and says that he always wanted to be him when he was a kid.

"You probably thought I'd wanna be Indiana Jones or James Bond or some shit," he's saying, voice slurred, head leaning slightly on Castiel's stiff shoulder. Castiel's about to say _no I never thought that who are you talking about _but Dean keeps going, "But Dr. Grant is all that without being a dick you know? He starts off all no kids Ellie I don't want kids blah, blah, blah, and he's so smart and serious but then he turns out protecting these kids he gets stuck with and I used to think that maybe that's what a father is. Someone who's a badass without being a dick about it and at the end of the day lets some kids sleep on his shoulder in a helicopter. And he never makes them kill a T-Rex because you know dad would do that first thing like oh Sammy, Dean you need to learn to kill these dinosaurs because people might die but maybe people should realize that, oh yeah that's a fucking T-Rex maybe I shouldn't go near that thing because it might eat me."

Castiel's pretty sure that Dean's just saying whatever comes into his head now so he doesn't say anything, just watches the movie. On the screen, there's a cartoon explaining how the dinosaurs were created in labs and Cas furrows his eyebrows. "Dean, that's improbable. Even if this process worked, there would never be mosquitoes with the blood of all these species that were trapped in that particular way." He frowns. "That's too big of a coincidence." He thinks the DNA strand looks shifty and nothing like a real strand of DNA and fails to see how this little film is even remotely educational. He surmises that Dean's goal in calling him might be to attempt to rot his brain.

Dean laughs, a heavy, whiskey laden sound. "Lighten up buddy, it's just a movie." And he furrows the back of his head into Castiel's shoulder as he gets more comfortable. "And loosen your shoulders man, it's like leaning on a fucking statue."

Castiel does what he's asked without even thinking about it, slumping into the bed a bit to allow Dean to lay more comfortably. _Cas_ is still uncomfortable, though, and this doesn't really help. The movie keeps going and the feeling in Castiel's stomach – that twisting, strange, uncomfortable, warm feeling – is getting worse so he has to _say something_. "That's not what a raptor looked like, newborn or otherwise," he says, irritably. A small part of him thinks that the baby raptor may be considered cute if he really cared about cute or not cute. "Why are they recreating what God had purpose in destroying?" He doesn't think he likes this movie.

A light pressure on his chest comes and goes as Dean hits him with the hand not holding the whiskey bottle, and Castiel thinks distantly that that was probably intended to hurt and _Dean you can't hurt me I'm angel I keep telling you that_ and Dean slurs, "Because dinosaurs are fucking awesome that's why. Geez Clarence, I think you'll enjoy it if you just watch the damn thing and quit thinking so much." And he drinks another large gulp out of the bottle and Castiel begins to think that maybe he should make him stop drinking because humans can die from that. He grabs the bottle and receives little resistance. "I mean if you wanted to drink, you could have just asked. Can angels get drunk?" Dean laughs again, presumably at the idea of Castiel being drunk, and Cas frowns.

"It would take more alcohol than you could afford, Dean," he says steadily. And Dean laughs again, saying something about how funny it would be and that maybe he might actually loosen up for once and Castiel almost wishes he _could_ do that for him if it would amuse him so much.

But, as it is, he figures he's making him laugh enough, and he's allowing him to lie on his shoulder and make him watch this movie, which seems important to Dean for whatever reason – all things that are not really in his job description, but then again, he's also pretty sure that his job description doesn't entail _do not do anything that would make Dean Winchester disappointed in you_ which has pretty much become his mantra lately. Castiel tries to concentrate on the movie, but Dean keeps shifting and somehow his arm has made it around Castiel's back and his hand is resting on his hip and _Dean is definitely not in any danger, why did he call me_. Part of him knows that this probably has to do with the brothers splitting up, and, if that's the case then Dean should just talk about it.

"Where did Sam go." And again he fails at the question thing but he still just gets a _hell-if-I-know_ grunt from Dean. He sighs, and relents a little. "What is this movie about Dean?" he asks, gravelly and trying to sound genuinely curious. This sends Dean into a drunk description of the plot and the characters and every now and again Cas interrupts with something like _but not all of these are from your Jurassic period Dean_ and _why is he called the bloodsucking lawyer, he's not a vampire_ and Dean just laughs through all of this, sloppy smile on his face and glazed over eyes and his hand is gripping tight to the angel's hip and Castiel thinks distantly that there's a part of him, somewhere, that's prickling up at the feeling and he's not sure if he dislikes it.

"I also think I'd wanna be John McClane," Dean says, finished with his description and moving on to something that Castiel doesn't really understand again. He doesn't say anything though, just lets Dean continue. "Because man that dude's a bad ass."

Castiel wants to say something like _why aren't you just happy with being yourself_ but he stays quiet and focuses on the movie instead. Dean plays with the pocket of Castiel's pants and hums along every now and again with the background music and, absently, Cas thinks that this would be a "moment" as Sam and Dean would call it, if not for the heavy smell of whiskey and the fact that _he's an angel of the Lord_. The shirt he always wears has come un-tucked on one side, and Dean starts absently rubbing the skin there, leaving a trail of weird tingly sensations reaching all the way to Castiel's stomach and he hopes his intake of breath isn't too noticeable. Dean's eyelids are heavy and Cas knows he's not going to be able to stay awake much longer so he just stays very still and tries to block out the disconcerting sensation.

When Dean does finally pass out, drunk and tired and all but sprawled across the angel on the bed, Castiel presses two fingers to his forehead and relieves some of the alcohol from his blood so he won't die in his sleep, but doesn't do much to prevent a hangover the next day because _Dean you need to learn your lesson_.

He then tries to ease out from underneath him.

Dean's automatic reaction to movement is to finish wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist, catch him off guard, and pull him completely down onto the bed – arms and limbs wrapped around him in a drunken tangle. Annoyance masking anything else the angel might be feeling, Cas begins to pry Dean's fingers off him slowly, muttering "Dean, let go of me please" under his breath which must spark some recognition in the man because the fingers he's trying to pry off just tighten and imitate a clumsy sort of hand holding.

"Mm, Cas," a rough voice mutters, and the angel of the Lord finds himself suddenly being groped by the hand he had forgotten about. "Stay." And Dean's voice is quiet, pleading and –

Castiel quickly ignores any sort of decorum he might have been trying to uphold by arranging Dean more comfortably on the bed, and disappears with the sound of shuffling feathers before drunken hands can go any further.


	2. Chapter 2

So, more mentions of Texas because that's all I really know anything about without having to look things up. The "ghost hunting" thing, as well as the "haunted" places are real things in Stephenville and relayed to me by my boyfriend and his cousin and altered slightly by me. The merit behind the actual "truth" behind the stories is debatable, because I honestly just thought it was something they and their friends did, but then I met someone at school who'd gone "ghost hunting" down there so I dunno now.

Small towns need entertainment, obviously.

Otherwise, uh. More nonsense. And texting.

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><p>There's a voicemail in Castiel's inbox the next afternoon from Dean asking why the angel sent four text messages to him saying WHERE ARE YOU in a twenty minute span and <em>how can you read what I sent you, it was like a drunken mess Cas. Anyway, call me back<em>. Castiel furrows his brows and decides _not_ to call him back, and instead flies to Israel to walk the path of his Father. After getting two texts with two different addresses over the next few days and a few saying _why are u ignoring me_ and _u cld at least call me bck bitch_ his phone falls more or less silent and he sits on the shore of the Black Sea and watches as people shuffle out of the water after floating for a second in it because _ah shit that burns_.

He wrinkles his nose and wonders why people are always so surprised by that.

Two weeks go by before he hears from Dean again, but this time it's in the form of a prayer so apparently he must be getting desperate. Castiel then realizes that he had forgotten to charge his phone. _Cas, _Dean's voice floats into his mind, _who art probably not in Heaven and art instead sulking somewhere on Earth because he's a great big angel bitch, get your ass down here and quit ignoring your damn phone. _There's a pause and Castiel frowns at the improper grammar and the overall horribleness of the prayer before _oh yeah, Stevenville, Texas – Holliday Inn room 201 please and thank you._ Another pause. _And yeah, amen, or whatever the fuck_.

Castiel wonders if he's drunk again, but decides he should probably see what Dean wants so he spreads his wings and heads back to America, landing in the hotel room just in time to catch Dean walking out of the shower. "I'm here." His voice is a tired sigh, and he just stares as Dean freaks out about the fact that he's butt naked because _man I thought I was alone where the fuck is my towel and why the Hell are you just staring at me have a little bit of shame you freakin' angel come on_ but it's mostly a jumbled mess that Castiel doesn't really attempt to understand. He's seen Dean much more naked than this – down to his atoms – and he's tempted to point that out, but a part of him realizes that that might not make matters any better.

"You're late!" Dean finally gets out, and he's yanking a pair of jeans up over hastily put on boxers. "I called you hours ago man. I figured you were still sulking or some shit." He's struggling with his shirt, so Castiel reaches to help him pull it down but Dean jerks back. "And what's that about anyway – I fucking called you and sent like twenty texts and ran up my goddamn bill so I hope you're freakin' happy. I thought you were supposed to be like my guardian angel or somethin'."

Castiel frowns at him, watching him finally get the shirt down. He can see where damp spots are already appearing on the cloth because Dean wasn't completely dry when he put it on. "Why didn't you have a towel, you're dripping all over the carpet," he says pointedly and Dean just glares at him because _hey angel, not the point_. Castiel lets out a breath and looks around the hotel room. There's no sign of Sam still, which is disappointing, but Dean seems sober and there's no bottle sitting out readily available. "You called me two weeks ago. Or, rather, texted me something about being in danger. I answered you then." He doesn't say _isn't that good enough_ but his tone seems to suggest it and Dean quirks his mouth. "And I'm not your guardian angel. Those don't exist," he adds, but it gets ignored.

"I'm surprised you could read that," Deab laughs. When Cas just glares at him like _of course I could read that, I'm not illiterate and you are pretty awful at texting anyway Dean_ he sighs. "Sorry, I was pretty messed up. The last thing I remember is grabbing my phone and texting some girl I met in Tallahassee like five years ago. She didn't remember me, of course. I blacked out somewhere during that text conversation and man it shows dude." He laughs again, but Castiel doesn't see the humor in this.

"We watched _Jurassic Park_," he says stoically. "You insisted that it was important."

He doesn't say a_nd then you kissed my cheek and you laid on me and groped me and now I'm confused_ even though he really _does_ want to know why. But if Dean doesn't remember it, then there's really no point in bringing it up.

This makes Dean laugh even more, a little confused, looking like he's trying to wrap his head around the fact that he had managed to convince Castiel to deal with that kind of nonsense. "Did you like it?" he asks, and Castiel adopts a _that's not the point_ look, but admits that it wasn't too torturous to view and Dean smiles. "Man, that's one of my favorites."

"You said you used to want to be Dr. Grant when you grew up." Castiel still doesn't understand the concept and it's an insignificant thing to know about a person, he thinks, but knowing something that insignificant and personal about Dean seems special somehow. "Or John McClane. I don't know who he is."

Dean smiles, shaking his head. "Okay, yeah, I was super messed up if I started waxing poetic about my childhood." He blinks. "And, uh, Bruce Willis?" which receives no recognition from Castiel except the usual head tilt and Dean sighs but spares him what was probably going to be a tirade about how Cas has been watching Earth for how long now? in favor of shifting a little uncomfortably, like he's not sure what to do now. "Uh, thanks for putting up with that."

Castiel just nods, a _keep up Dean_ look on his face, like there shouldn't be any doubt that he would put up with it because he obviously puts up with a lot more than he should. He then steadies his gaze, serious now. "Dean, why did you call me."

"Learn to properly ask a question dude. You can't just say the words, you gotta – " Dean frowns. "Never mind. Uh. Look, there's reports of a woman in white here and I've gone through the records but I dunno. That's usually Sam's business and God this town is so Podunk man. There's like two bars excluding the one that's in the middle of campus that's filled with bikers for whatever reason and there are rodeo grounds freakin' everywhere. Like, I'm pretty sure I saw a cow in the middle of the street somewhere. And, to top it all off, it's a fuckin' dry county too so – "

"Dean." _Stay on track_.

"Uh yeah. Anyway. So far, there's only been a few deaths – some kids going 'ghost hunting' or something and messing with stuff they shouldn't. Apparently it's a town legend, but it seems all wrong. When I talked to some of the other kids here, it turns out that that's not the only legend or supposed 'ghost' here, either. So I fished around." Dean's shuffling through printed papers, and pointing out random things on them. Castiel sees mentions of _burned down orphanage_ and _the Devil's Lamp_ and _McDowell's Hole_ and something about a hanging tree, but none of the print outs seem to actually be from a newspaper.

"These are not from a reputable source, Dean," he says levelly and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Ghost stories are never in newspapers, Cas, c'mon man," There's aggravation in his voice and he pulls out another piece of paper. "See, I looked through this site that listed reports of 'haunted' places all across America and all of these are accounts from the same town in the middle of freakin' nowhere Texas, and they all hold up. I mean, the origins, that is. All of these things freakin' exist and do actually have the history the sites are saying, but there is _no_ significant ghost activity at any of them and I've seen jack shit and I've been here for a week. Normally, this is just a case of there being a relatively good reason for a haunting, but, c'mon, how many places with haunting stories actually have ghosts, right? It should be simple – kids getting caught up and trying to scare each other. But somehow, there's been a death connected which each legend. And not accidental or natural – down right weird and specific to each place. I don't know what to do, man. And maybe I normally would, but it's hard to think straight without a second opinion and I've gotta respect Sam's wishes and Bobby's pissed at me for that so I just got you." He lets out a heavy breath and sits on the edge of the bed, papers still in hand.

Castiel looks at him. _Oh alright_. He closes his eyes and searches out the town mentally, feeling for anything out of place and then sighs. _Oh great_. "It's a witch Dean. From the energy I'm feeling, it's relatively powerful." He frowns. "And it's upset with you."

"Ugh," is all Dean says before throwing the papers on the bed. "Fuckin hate witches."

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><p>It turns out to be a relatively simple job in the end. Probably due to the presence of an angel, but Dean is happy with the success and the awesome lack of stupid witch curses. It seems that there is in fact truth to some of the legends that have been going around town – with all your basic signs of relatively harmless hauntings like windshields frosting over in the middle of summer when you drive across the bridge at McDowell's hole and whispers and the feeling of something touching your back when you sit turned away from the old hanging tree in the cemetery – enough to entice bored kids to go drive around to each of the spots and try to scare each other, the rest of the haunting being fabricated by overly creative and spooked minds. Never anything violent, though, until one day a kid started messing with forces he shouldn't.<p>

It turns out that there's an abandoned old church with a speculated sordid history that has become a hang out for local kids brave enough to sneak onto private property and stupid enough to actually go in the doors. Normally harmless, if not for the poor people living next door to the place that have to deal with trespassers and the inevitable drug use that has had to have gone on at least once or twice. The story was that the church patrons had gotten into seriously dangerous stuff – from what Dean could figure, it seemed like demon deals, since all the members were extremely wealthy and all of them disappeared around the same time with no explanation other than hastily put together excuses of "job offers" and "greener pastures" offered by the preacher. The preacher, of course, being the demon making the deals in the first place.

Seems that the church was originally located at a dirt cross roads, but three of the roads were now indistinguishable due to overgrowth and a house being built on top of one. Dean assumes that the demon is now long gone, even if the crossroads technically still exists. It's not like most people would notice it now.

Add onto that the rumors of the church doing demonic rituals and sacrificing a poor local girl in the basement…well, you have a building with some pretty serious bad mojo. While most normal kids would generally just be creeped out by this place, however, this one particular boy took a morbid interest in the church and the practices that occurred there and decided to use what he learned to get revenge on the people in school who had made fun of him. The fact that these kids partook in the local past time of visiting relatively harmless and obscure places made it the perfect way to keep his activity hidden while also ensuring that more people that he might want to punish also made their way there eventually due to morbid curiosity and _oh shit there are actually ghosts!_ "Fuckin' sixteen year old witches," Dean mutters, and his face is sad as he stares at the lifeless body of the kid he had just been forced to shoot.

Castiel has to keep himself from telling Dean that the boy's soul was in Hell, because he decides that that might not be a comforting statement, even if most humans might feel better knowing that a soul was being punished, and he wonders when he became the comforting sort in the first place. "At least no more kids will get hurt," he offers instead and Dean just grunts.

"It'd be better if they didn't think this 'ghost hunting' shit was so fun," he mutters. "They should try the real thing sometime. See if that gets their little girlfriends to sleep with them for being so _brave_."

And then he decides that they're gonna go to the bar because he deserves it after having to deal with a _fuckin hormonal witch_ and tells Castiel that he's not allowed to ditch him until "I'm well and thoroughly smashed" and Cas just groans because _drunk Dean gropes and that is not allowed_ but goes with him anyway because it seems stupid to unleash this monster on the world unattended.

Which is why, an hour and a half later, they are sitting at a place that Castiel didn't care to remember the name of, watching a country band play on stage while Dean mutters things to him that he can't hear. "What are you saying Dean," but Dean doesn't repeat himself, just smiles a weird smile and sips on what he called a Jack-and-Coke and flicks Castiel's nose.

"You should get drunk," he says, making a point to speak up a little, and it's slurred a bit, but not in the _let me touch your penis_ kind of way it was the other night so Cas just stares at him.

"We talked about this Dean." He sips the rest of his own glass, straight vodka or whatever it was that Dean had ordered him, and sets it down with a thud. "It would take more alcohol than you could afford."

Dean frowns. "I don't remember that." And of course he doesn't. So he orders two more drinks and shoves one Castiel's way, saying, simply, "This one's whiskey, my favorite poison," as if he's going to just give it the old college try. "And maybe you could just let yourself get tipsy or something and quit being so freakin' self-righteous about everything." He sips from his glass and Cas can see the glaze forming in his eyes and the redness seeping onto the edges of his cheeks.

"You shouldn't drink so much," Castiel says pointedly, but downs his whiskey in one long gulp, mostly just to see the wide-eyed expression that appears on Dean's face. "And, I don't know what tipsy means." As much as he would like to maybe get drunk, just to see what it would be like, he thinks of Dean that night at the motel and doesn't see the appeal.

Dean laughs, slinging one arm over the back of Castiel's chair and says, "Hey remember when we tried to get you laid?" and Cas corrects him with a _no, Dean, it was just __**you**__ that was trying_ but Dean ignores him and says something about how, if Cas had been drunk, that might have actually worked out and that he couldn't understand why Cas wasn't curious at all about it and Cas isn't sure if Dean's talking about sex or getting drunk so he lifts Dean's glass and prods him to shut up and drink it.

Because, obviously, a stumbling drunk Dean is better than a prodding one.

Though, this means, of course, that Castiel has to carry him out of the bar and to the Impala because _seriously Cas if you do your angel teleportation shit I will make sure that when I barf it's all over your fuckin' flasher trench coat_ and the angel is faced with the horrifying dilemma of having to drive the thing. And fortunately, it's late enough that there's hardly any traffic, and Castiel cruises towards the hotel at a frightening speed of 15 miles per hour while Dean pretty much screams along with the stereo from the back seat and tells him more than once that they'll probably get pulled over by the police but that doesn't end up happening.

"I think I got a bottle of Jack in here somewhere," Dean's muttering as soon as they get into the hotel room, and he's digging through his duffel with a frown on his face.

"Dean," Castiel starts, but doesn't finish. He's wondering if he should just pop out of the room and leave Dean to it, but he doesn't think that that would be a good idea given the circumstances. Instead, he just stands stiffly near the doorway. "You should lie down."

Dean waves a dismissing hand at him, resuming his search, so Castiel moves from his safe position and grabs his arm with some persistence and Dean mutters, "Okay, okay, freakin' stick in the mud," and proceeds to take his jeans off which…is not what the angel was expecting at all.

"Uh. Dean."

"I hate sleeping in my pants," Dean mumbles, struggling with his belt. And Cas wants to say _no, Dean, you sleep in your clothes all the time, I know this_ but then realizes that Dean might not take too lightly to having been watched in his sleep more than once so he snaps his mouth shut and just glares at Dean as if that will make him stop what he's doing. "You saw me naked earlier so quit being a prude."

This is true, so Cas just continues to...stand there.

Dean wanders into the bathroom, shirt and boxers only and Castiel assumes he's probably brushing his teeth and, again, is faced with the both the perfect opportunity to leave and the utter guilt he knows he would feel if he did. Dean's obviously not well, and suffering from kind of Sam withdrawal. He's also drunk and there are a lot of knives hidden in the duffle bag, and Castiel wonders too much about what a depressed and drunk Dean might do.

Aside from molest angels, of course, and Castiel hates that his face feels hot.

"I thought you would have left by now," Dean says as he comes back out and Castiel growls in frustration because now he can't leave because Dean thinks he's staying and _do not disappoint Dean Winchester_. So he just stares at him until Dean makes eye contact. "Quit being creepy." And Dean throws a shirt at his head. The shirt he had previously been wearing.

"Why are you getting naked." Castiel is holding the shirt in his hands tightly, irritated that he's getting so worked up about this, but he doesn't know what is happening. And he's confused and doesn't understand why seeing Dean undress is different than popping in on him already naked but he thinks it might have to do with the loose whiskey smile that Dean keeps directing at him while he wanders around the hotel room with only thin cotton around his mid section.

Castiel decides he hates alcohol and will get rid of it if he ever gets the chance because drunk people are stupid.

"Calm down, I still got on my underwear," and Dean smiles sloppily as he tugs on the waistband as if to prove _yes I am wearing it but I could take it off if that's what you'd prefer_ so Castiel just glares at him. "It's hot as fuck in here," he finally explains. And Cas supposes that it might be, but _he's not stripping so why should Dean_. "But I guess you wouldn't know about that because of your freakin' angel mojo or whatever it is that keeps you so goddamn cold. Like seriously, your hands feel like ice sometimes." And he's muttering off to himself again as he lays on top of the bed spread and turns on the T.V. and Castiel has to stop himself from saying _I can make myself feel warmer if that would be less disorienting for you_. Instead, he just stands still in the middle of the room.

Dean's flipping through channels with a disappointed look on his face and he asks, "Did we really watch a movie together, Cas?"

The angel nods.

"Weiiiird."

"Because you pretended you were in trouble," he points out.

Dean ignores this, and Castiel can see that all the alcohol he drank in the ten minutes before they left (four shots, seriously, because some girl decided that he wasn't drunk enough since he refused to dance on the bar with her and Castiel dragged him away _before he actually got drunk enough for that_) is starting to kick in because Dean's smile has grown and his eyes are half closed. "Damn, Cas, I think I'm drunk," and he laughs and Castiel hates how much he likes hearing it. Even dripping wet with whiskey, Dean's bark of a laugh is extremely comforting.

"Don't some people get sad when they're drunk," steady and with a bit of annoyance that again, fails the question test, and Dean just laughs more at that.

"Geez Cas, learn to be a little more human," he sputters, hand flailing in the air in some kind of pointing gesture and then he pats it on the bed. "C'mere."

And, of course, without hesitation, he does and immediately regrets it because Dean uses the element of surprise (again) to yank him down onto the bed. Luckily, Castiel manages to control his fall and ends up beside Dean instead of on top of him, but that doesn't stop the scowl from forming on his face. "Dean, stop it."

"Cas, why do witches have to be such dicks?" Dean's got one arm under the angel, laying on his side and facing him with genuine curiosity. "Like, why can't people who learn magic do good things with it instead of selfish things or things like killing people?"

Castiel considers this, glad that it appears they're just going to have a conversation where they happen to be laying next to each other. He can readily ignore the fact that Dean's free hand is fumbling distractedly with the hem of his trench coat, because at least it's his trench coat and not his _skin_. "I think that if a witch is doing good things, you would never hear about them, Dean," he offers. Then he closes his eyes and adds, "But power corrupts and even the best intentions will end up hurting others, just because witchcraft tends to be inherently evil. Other magic, however, is not so strictly aligned."

"You mean, like, angel magic." Dean's eyes are still half closed, and he's looming slightly over Castiel, whose head is laying flat on the pillow. Dean is looking at his face, but not at his eyes and Castiel is confused again.

"No," he mutters. "My powers are not considered 'magic' though it might look that way to you." Dean's eyes flutter to meet his for a minute, but drift back down again, and Cas realizes that he can feel a soft breeze on his face. His breath hitches in his throat for a second, noticing that their faces are less than an inch away now. He'd never really realized why Dean got so upset about the personal space thing, because there had never been _intent_ there, in Castiel's mind. He's starting to see what Dean was talking about. He clears his throat and attempts to stay serious, "Dean, don't think that good and evil are so strictly defined. The angels believe they are doing the right thing. And to the creatures you fight, you and Sam could be considered evil. Monsters even."

Dean makes a _mm-hm_ sound but says, voice scratchy, "Then you're a stupid angel, laying here with a monster." And he's laughing and Castiel can feel it on his face and it's getting closer and closer and –

Cas disappears just as the ghost of chapped lips brush lightly on his mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


	3. Chapter 3

It just gets more...and more cracky. I just really enjoyed imagining them have text/phone banter, I dunno. And the idea that Cas goes to different countries when Dean upsets him seemed like it would fit. I tend to imagine Castiel being pretty emotionless, but the show has him getting angry and happy and everything else so it's more of a _what he doesn't let himself feel_ rather than _what he can't feel_. I guess. I say this mostly because I worry I made him too sassy. But sassy Cas is wonderful so I just kept going with it. He's also opinionated about art, so go figure. ALSO, a hopefully understandable and reasonable explanation for the reason Dean texts like a four year old.

Now to figure out exactly how to end all this (almost there, jusssstt a little moooreee).

(Also, I changed the rating to M because of the amount of bad language and hopeful sexytimes if I can muster up the courage and ability. I wasn't sure if the liberal amounts of f-bombs qualified it for an M rating, but just being safe. Advice?)

* * *

><p>The next day, Castiel sends a text to Dean <em>YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK ANYMORE<em> and doesn't explain or answer the phone when Dean tries to call him. Of course, it's another night that Dean doesn't really remember except _hey Cas did I strip for you or something because I wasn't wearing clothes and I normally sleep in more than just underwear_ and Castiel buries his face in his hands as he listens to the voicemail and makes the other people in the Louvre feel uncomfortable with his grumbling.

He's ignoring an inbox of five messages when he makes the decision that the _Mona Lisa_ is not a very impressive painting. He thinks that this should be common knowledge, but everyone else just seems _absolutely fascinated _by it.

He frowns and glances at the messages. It's a nice assortment of _hey man sry i got drunk _followed by _again _and _i didnt rly strip did i? because that wld be awkwrd _and, _did i dance on a bar? to covers of kenny chesney?_ and finally, _did we hapn to wtch die hard cuz tht wld be awsm nd u NEED to see it. _He can tell by the spelling mistakes when Dean's getting excited.

But, of course, Dean wouldn't remember the most mortifying part of the night.

Which means that Castiel has to ignore it. Again.

Instead of answering any of them, he sends a _The Mona Lisa is very unimpressive in person but people still flock to see it just because it's famous. I will never understand your species._ And then he continues to glare at the small painting with the giant glass box around it. S_he's not very attractive as far as humans go either._

_ur in france? what the hell man_ is the response only a minute later and Castiel is impressed that Dean even knew what and where the museum was, let alone that the _Mona Lisa _was in it and he walks away from the painting and wanders for a bit. Maybe he based the location solely off the fact that "Mona Lisa" sounds like it might be French, which, admittedly, might still be impressive. Apparently, though, Cas takes too long for Dean because his phone starts to vibrate and he sees INCOMING CALL: DEAN WINCHESTER and decides he doesn't want to answer it. Instead, he rubs his forehead and types _In a museum Dean, it is considered rude to be on the phone. Learn some manners._

_fuck museums and answer ur phone. why r u n franc_

Castiel thinks the awful grammar and spelling must be due, first of all, to the fact that Dean texts the same way he does pretty much everything else – angry and in a hurry and with far too much force, like someone will die if he doesn't get this message out _right now_ and _forget typing all the letters that takes too long and it makes sense anyway _– and, second of all due to his refusal to learn how the keyboard actually works. Cas only learned how to use the stupid thing because the Winchesters asked him to, and now he's annoyed that apparently he's the only one who can do it correctly. He sighs.

Stepping out of the museum, he finally relents and calls Dean back. "I'm allowed to be in France," he says instead of hello. "What do you want."

He can almost _hear_ Dean's grimace as he mumbles over what to say. Cas is about to say _Spit it out_ when Dean manages, "For you to not be in freakin' France dumbass." Castiel shoves his free hand in his pocket, waiting for Dean to continue because _that can't be it_ and eventually, he says a little angrily, "The Apocalypse is happening _here_ by the way. While you're lookin' at art museums and complaining about my species – which, you know, you've thrown your lot in with so don't get me started on what that says about you." There's a moment where he thinks Dean's probably adjusting the phone on his shoulder because he has one hand on the wheel and the other switching the radio station because a commercial just came on. "Plus, I'm not in Stephenville anymore so I thought I'd let you know."

Castiel lets himself smile a bit. "Thank you, Dean." He looks around, watching pigeons fly up as he steps into the area they've been gathered in. He doesn't tell Dean that the Apocalypse is going to be happening everywhere else soon if they don't stop Lucifer. He's got enough weight on his shoulders as it is. "Has Sam called you?"

There's heavy pause and Castiel assumes _no he hasn't _and almost feels bad for asking. "Well, aside from just letting me know he's doing alright, no. It seems like something might be up, but he wouldn't tell me about it so I just let it go." A pause, and then Dean adds, "I think I'm gonna drive somewhere I'll be closer, you know just in case. Probably gonna find a motel in a few hours, though." There's a hint of something there and Cas tries to pretend he didn't hear it but he can't.

He hesitates then says, roughly, "Let me know where." And then hangs up before he can hear Dean say anything else.

* * *

><p>It's a small motel somewhere in Missouri that Dean decides to stay in, and he relays the message to Castiel at midnight while Cas is standing in St. Paul's cathedral. He looks at the stained glass and the colored lights and sighs. When he doesn't arrive fast enough for Dean, his phone starts vibrating indignantly so he flutters out without drawing too much attention.<p>

"'Bout time. Geez, Cas," Dean's saying. And the noise is coming from _right next to him_ and it's enough to startle him slightly. "Gotta work on your timing. I just tried to call you."

Castiel doesn't bother telling Dean that he had received the text less than ten minutes ago, and opts to just stare at him for a minute until Dean feels uncomfortable and wanders over to the night stand. The motel is dingy and the usual Winchester fair – inconspicuous and sketchy, not likely to ask questions or call the police if there is blood on the sheets when they leave. Castiel doesn't really like this line of thinking. "Why do you stay in motels with the idea that you're probably going to bleed in them?" he asks. Genuine question this time, almost like the time he asked Dean about his unwillingness to be saved.

Dean just barks out a laugh. "C'mon man, you know us. There's no way we get out of a hunt clean," and he's sorting through his duffle absently. He pauses, clicks his tongue and corrects himself. "Well, except for times like that witch. But then I had an angel with me so go figure."

Remembering last time, Cas decides he's just going to go ahead and prepare himself and ask it. "You're not going to drink tonight are you?" And if he weren't an angel and incapable of feeling nervous – _no, the weird tingling does not count_ – he might have closed his eyes and braced for impact. But he isn't, so he doesn't, and just keeps his eyes steady and strong on Dean's back five feet away.

Dean turns, smile on his face. "Hadn't planned on it," he admits. "Nah, I mostly let myself go like that when Sam's not around to stop me. He tends to take away my fun." He considers this for a moment, then adds, "I thought that you might be the one to do that now, actually, but it seems like you just tend to grin and bear it, eh? Anyway, I've gotten drunk more often than not these few weeks so I figure a sober night will be good for me." And he laughs, folding the last shirt and shoving it back in the bag. Castiel doesn't see the point.

"Folding your clothes isn't going to make them any less wrinkled when you just put them in that thing," he mutters and Dean ignores him.

"Are we gonna talk about it, Cas?" he asks instead, and Castiel tilts his head because _Dean cannot be talking about what I think he's talking about_ and opts to not say anything. No use divulging what Dean might not know. But Dean's sheepish smile is slowly fading off his face and is being replaced by creeping redness again. "This whole, Michael. Lucifer thing. The Apocalypse. Where you stand." _Oh that_. "I mean, we can use all the help we can get."

Castiel just glares at him. "Dean. I let Raphael kill me in order to protect you."

Dean looks oddly hurt by this, and Castiel doesn't understand it. "Yeah, I don't like it when people do that," Dean mutters, and glances at Cas with sad expression. "I mean, not that I don't appreciate it, just don't make a habit of dying for me. I kind of enjoy having you around, Clarence."

Cas sighs. "Dean, I still don't understand that reference."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I forget that you're the clueless angel, but just humor me sometimes will ya?" And Dean laughs, but there's a fondness in his eyes that Castiel suddenly notices. He wonders if it's been there the whole time, and when he realizes _well maybe, but you've been avoiding eye contact since you glared at him when you got here_ his stomach does that twisting thing again.

"Um," Dean's saying now, and Castiel snaps back to reality. "I'm glad you ended up coming. I uh…" he trails off, digging in his bag again and proving Cas's earlier point, before he digs out a rectangular box. "Talking about it made me wanna watch it so uh…join me?' And the thing he's holding says DIE HARD in yellow letters and Castiel knows he's going to regret it, but of course he relents.

"Of course, Dean."

* * *

><p>"I don't think I like him more than you, Dean," Cas is saying later, over an hour into the movie. They're on the same bed, shoulders pressed together, but Castiel doesn't feel uncomfortable this time because he's in no danger of being groped or leaned over or kissed. The contact they are making, however, is still a little disconcerting. He's glad that Dean couldn't convince him to take off anything more than his trench coat and shoes.<p>

Dean mutters something inaudible then clears his throat. "Nah, McClane's so much more badass than me," he says, clearly, and Castiel is stuck wondering more on the things he _doesn't say_. "He kills a crazy terrorist."

"And you kill monsters." Castiel points it out, but Dean just makes that scoffing noise he always makes when he's uncomfortable. There's an explosion on the screen and John McClane is shining with sweat in the light of the fire. While this movie is certainly more "action-packed" Castiel thinks he prefers the quiet, fatherly Dr. Grant to this sweating, muscled man.

Dean's pretty into the movie, though, so Cas stays quiet for most of it, only speaking up when something really confuses him. Like Dean's insistence that it's the perfect Christmas movie which _Dean, the only thing this movie has to do with Christmas is the party at the beginning_ and Dean just laughs at him saying something about how he and Sam used to eat popcorn and Milk Duds and sit in front of cheap motel T.V.s every Christmas watching _Die Hard_ while their father disappeared on a hunt. "Milk Duds are hard and like glue for your teeth on their own, but stick them in a bowl of freshly popped, hot popcorn, and they melt so perfectly in your mouth that you _just know_ that God intended the two to go together."

"Candy is manufactured by humans, Dean," Castiel says and Dean goes on about how he takes the fun out of everything and how he's going to make Cas try it someday anyhow.

After the movie's gone on for awhile, and seems to almost be finished, Dean begins to drift off on Castiel's shoulder. He tenses, but realizes that there's not really any harm in it – and Dean's sober, anyway, so there's no chance he'll consider groping a good idea. By the time the movie is actually over, Dean's completely asleep and snoring lightly and Cas is watching the credits roll and wondering if he should take this as his cue to leave.

Then Dean adjusts to get more comfortable, and is pretty much _cuddling_ so Castiel decides to just lie there and let it happen. He knows enough about Dean to know that he doesn't generally get much sleep and he's a little afraid his sudden "poofing" away might wake him up since he's not passed out drunk this time. He'll eventually move, anyway, and lie down on the actual bed like a normal person and Castiel can escape _then_. So he just stares at the static that appears on the screen and listens to the steady flow of breath coming from Dean.

* * *

><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


	4. Chapter 4

So NEXT CHAPTER. I've had it mostly written for a while, but I was having difficulty finishing the scene. Kinda getting a little more serious, but not too serious. That's what my other stories are for.

Maybe one or two chapters left after this one. I made it rated M because I thought the language was too much for T, BUT might as well earn the rating, right? Possibly. We'll see. haha. Intending for this one to be mostly fluff anyway.

Also, this is the start of my own kind of time line. Like, I started typing this before I'd re-watched season five, so the events are the same but the details/sequences are a little different (because I honestly forgot how and where some things happened, I just knew they _did_ happen). Hopefully that's not enough to put anyone off.

Anyway. THINGS HAPPEN IN THIS ONE. Some progess, yes.

* * *

><p>Castiel's gone by the morning, but still gets a text from Dean saying <em>thks for stying<em>.

Because somehow _Dean just knows_.

He resolves to teach Dean how to type correctly, but continues sitting in silence on the roof of the Taj Mahal, eyes closed and feeling for signs of Lucifer. That can wait until the end of the world isn't happening anymore, he decides. Even if a part of him knows that there's not much they can do to stop it. He doesn't really want Dean to remember him as the one who berated him for awful texting, though, so he decides it's better not to mention it.

Today, his phone stays silent, aside from the one text, and he hopes that this is because Dean is with Sam again and doesn't have time for useless banter with an angel. He ignores the fact that he might actually be a little saddened by this possibility, and decides to go to a wheat field in Kansas and watch the sun set instead.

The ground turns to gold and he closes his eyes.

* * *

><p>It's not until the sun has firmly disappeared that he realizes the reason he didn't get a call or any more messages is because Dean was trapped in an alternate universe by Zachariah. And he only realizes <em>this<em> because Dean calls him and tells him to get his feathery ass back to Missouri. His desire to separate himself from the strange feelings he's had as of late have definitely ruined his _Dean's in danger_ senses and this makes him almost frantic because _what else has he missed and what if Zachariah made him say yes_. Castiel tries to hide all this when he appears in Dean's motel room, and he listens to the story of 2014 with a practiced, steady gaze.

After insuring Dean that Zachariah only showed him _one _possible future, and it was the one that was meant to scare him the most, Castiel sighs with relief when Dean finally picks up the phone and admits that he and Sam are better off watching out for each other.

When he hangs up, he gives Castiel a strange look. "Don't ever change," he says.

But he doesn't explain what he meant, and just mutters something about getting some sleep because he has to leave early to get Sam, so Castiel takes that as his cue to leave. And he decides that he _has_ to be imagining the sad look on Dean's face right before everything flashes white.

* * *

><p>It's been weeks since Castiel has heard from Dean, though he's gotten a few calls from Sam – just to ask for advice on some monster or get directions on a ritual that Bobby's unsure about. There's a weird strain in his voice, but Castiel ignores it. Sam's harder to read than Dean, and a lot more darkly complicated.<p>

Dean's his own kind of complicated.

It's simpler, but more confusing. Dean's pretty transparent when it comes to what he's going to do or how he's going to act in a certain situation – which is why all the business that happened when Sam was absent is even more annoying. None of it fits with what Castiel has come to expect of Dean Winchester, and it's frustrating him. He thought he knew the man down to his very atoms, but something slipped his notice. Somewhere along the line, Dean had managed to learn the secret to making an angel more human and was using it, cruelly, on Castiel. Not only that, but he was slowly mimicking the irrational interest that Castiel had for him and shooting it right back. A one sided fascination was more than enough for Cas to handle – now that it was becoming mutual, it was only serving to distract, confuse, and anger him.

He furrows his brow, hating that he's losing concentration every time he looks up from the old book he's studying to his phone. Expecting a call or _something _and didn't he come to Rome to look for answers? Not bide his time until Dean decided he was important enough to call again. He looks around at the stacks of books. It's frustrating that so much lore was lost to Heaven in the turmoil during and after Lucifer. While he's glad that humans were so diligent in writing down the words of the angels, he wishes that they would have realized what was_ actually important_ and made new copies of some of the less famous texts. He furrows his brow, attempting to read a decaying page with smeared text when Dean's voice drifts into his head.

_Help me Cas. I'm in Bobby's junk yard. 'bout half a mile from the house. I…could use…_

And it breaks off, like Dean's having trouble speaking so Castiel disappears immediately, landing next to an old pick up truck and frantically looking around for Dean. He shouts his name a few times and eventually hears a mutter from the other side of a broken down tractor. "Dean," and his voice is rough and has hints of something that scares him, more emotion in it than he had ever intended.

Dean looks up at him, and his eyes are glazed, but he's not smiling. There's a bottle in his hand and Castiel secretly wishes that he had been wrong when he had asked about people being sad sometimes when they get drunk. "Hey, Cas," Dean mutters. And his voice is broken.

"Dean, you shouldn't be out here. It's dangerous and you're drunk and – Dean. Look at me." Castiel is kneeling in front of his friend and grabbing his scruffy face and pulling it to face him. "Dean." There are tears in the man's eyes, not falling but resting on the inner part of his lids and glistening up and Castiel feels a hard lump growing in his throat. "What happened."

Dean lets out a laugh that isn't really a laugh and Cas let's go of his face, but doesn't move away. "Everything is fucked, Cas," he's muttering and he's got one of the angel's hands in his, calloused fingertips frantically rubbing harder than he probably means to. "It was always going to be me and Sammy, wasn't it? In the end, I'm always meant to kill him, right? Even Dad knew that and... It's all so fucked up. It's not fair, Cas." And he's sobbing, drunk and smelling of whiskey and dirt and Castiel doesn't know what to do, because _Dean Winchester is supposed to be strong _but there are calloused hands grabbing his face and suddenly there's a forehead pressing against his and it's shaking and the fingers in his hair are gripping tight and Castiel decides to just stay quiet. He lets Dean cry, their foreheads against each other, his own hands steady on Dean's shoulders and, after awhile, there's only labored breathing and a slight sniffling nose.

"Dean," Cas tries, but hesitates. He knew that Dean and Sam were inevitably going to have to go down that path, that one of them would have to die at the hands of the other. And that's why he had fought so hard with Dean to make him keep Sam from breaking that last seal. The _angels_ may have wanted all this, but Castiel had cast his lot in with _Dean Winchester_ at some point – and, in turn, was squarely on the side of the human race – and the idea of the Winchesters fighting each other made him ache in an uncomfortable and _unangel_-like way. "We…we'll find another way."

And Dean nods, swallowing hard and struggling to regain his composure. "Alcohol, you know," he mutters. "Makes me all feely and stuff sometimes." He straightens up, pulling his head away from Castiel's and he clears his throat once, twice, and blinks hard. "Sorry man, chick flick moment and all that and…"

Castiel notices, too late, that Dean's trailed off and is giving him a heavy look.

Which is why he doesn't have time to move away before rough lips are pressed sloppily on his mouth. Rather than disappear, he stays very still, and Dean doesn't do much more than press their mouths hard against each other before pulling away. There's no motion to make it anything more than that, but Dean remains hovering less than an inch away from him, breathing heavy and warm. Castiel tries hard to concentrate on the sound of crickets, but all he can think about is the strange tingling on the surface of his lips, electric and pulsing like something's been _woken up_. "Dean," he whispers, raspy and shaking in spite of himself.

"Cas," Dean mutters, moving his face so that his nose is grazing the angel's cheek. His heavy hold on the back of Castiel's neck is all that's holding him up now, even if he doesn't look close to passing out. "Do your zappy angel mojo thing like you always do. You don't have to stay here for this."

Castiel stares at the rusted metal behind Dean, concentrating on it so that he can regain some of that angelic stoic-ness he _knows _he must have had at one point. Dean shouldn't be able to unravel him like this, to make him _text _and _worry _and _joke _and _watch movies _but somehow, it keeps happening. He swallows. "Where would you like to go, Dean?"

And when Dean just sputters in protest, Castiel closes his eyes and suddenly they're sitting at the edge of the Grand Canyon, red rocks and dirt shimmering in the moonlight and Dean is too speechless to get angry about being flown somewhere against his will and then he's crying all over again alternating between _stupid fuckin angel _and _damn I told Sammy that he needed to see this_. Castiel gives him a small smile, supporting him with a firm arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"You are a man of simple needs, Dean," Cas says, and it's fond and unmocking and he hopes that Dean can hear that. "In all the time I've known you, you've only ever wanted family." Even when watching a movie, the thing he seems to admire most is the ability to protect people.

Dean rubs at his eyes and sniffs indignantly, scanning the rocks and the deep chasm below. He's got a small smile on his face, a strange combination of happy and frustrated and sad and he looks at Castiel steadily, eyes red and puffy. "Yeah, well don't tell Sammy. He still thinks I'm James Bond."

Castiel starts to say _I think he already knows_ but opts instead for, "I don't know who that is Dean." And Dean smiles like _of course you don't_ and keeps staring at him like there's something on his face but Cas knows there isn't. And he hates that Dean is only like this when he's upset or drunk because sometimes it's _nice_ to know exactly what the man is thinking without having to dig deep and interpret masked over and hidden feelings. Then again, these unhidden feelings tend to lean towards either crying or groping or kissing and Castiel's not entirely sure he would like that _all the time_.

"We've kissed before," Dean is saying and Castiel's brain sputters and is close to frying. "Or rather. I've wanted to kiss you before, haven't I?"

Castiel frowns, mouth working to figure out just what to say. "I don't know what you've wanted to do Dean. I'm not allowed to read your mind." He glances around frantically, realizing that they're alone in a desert. "You're drunk. And upset. You should go to sleep." Because for all his wanting to talk about it the past month, he's _an angel_ and he's not happy with the fact that there's all these human things inside of him. Dean's corrupting him. That has to be it. "You won't remember it in the morning, so there's no point in talking about it Dean."

Dean gives him a _look_ and says quietly, "So it's true."

And, in spite of himself, Castiel lets out an indignant laugh. "The fact that you have to ask, Dean Winchester…" and he's not really sure where he was going to go with it, but he can't ignore the fact that he can feel anger bubbling inside him. _Not the time to feel hurt, Castiel. Dean is upset enough as it is._ "You…I believe you just wanted company while Sam was gone. I don't think there's any need to read into it further," he finally says. And there's a bitterness in his heart and he swallows hard. His arm is still around Dean, but it's tense, rigid, and Dean is _so close_ and just staring at him.

And then he smiles, a crooked, half-cocked smile, and Castiel isn't sure if it's amusement or mocking or what. There's still a hint of sadness in his face, but it's mixed with other things now as well. A confusing mix that Castiel isn't sure how to interpret. "Cas," Dean starts. "If I wanted company while Sam was gone, I could have just gone to a bar. You know that."

Castiel nods, terse. Of course he knows that _why do you think I've been freaking out Dean._

"But, you didn't kiss me back," and Dean turns away again, eyes red and puffy but no longer full of tears, jaw set, and…_is he embarrassed? _There's definitely a pink shade to his face that Castiel has never noticed before. Immediately, Cas wants to correct this error - _yes, Dean, but that's just because I was shocked. Given another cha…_ He snaps his mouth shut before he says anything of the sort.

He purses his lips, wondering how to proceed. He doesn't want Dean to feel rejected, he knows that much. Coming to terms with _why_, however, is what he's having trouble with and he realizes that Dean is probably the only person who has ever succeeded in giving an angel a headache. "Not because I didn't desire to, Dean," he says softly, and Dean stiffens beside him. Dean seems like he's about to say something, _push this further_, so Castiel takes his arm off his shoulder and cuts him off. "But, this is not the time to discuss that."

"Dammit, Cas, when will there ever be a good time?" And Dean's turned towards him, grabbing his shoulder and glaring at him. "Sam might say yes tomorrow, and then what would happen? You and I against the world, right? But then I'll change and you'll lose me, Cas. I'll lose whatever it is that made you believe in me, and then you'll believe in nothing and I can't handle that again." Dean presses his face into Castiel's shoulder, breathing in the fabric of his trench coat.

Castiel thinks that this may have something to do with Zachariah's warped vision of the future that Dean refuses to talk about. "I don't believe that Sam will say yes, Dean," Cas says, and presses a hand onto Dean's back. "You need to have the same faith in Sam as he does in you."

"I tried that, Cas, but in the end he always leaves me." It's quiet and defeated and Cas feels that strange _human_ urge to gather him up in his arms and hold him tight. "I'm just tired of caring."

"You just need sleep, Dean." Castiel pulls him close for a moment. "We will talk about this in the morning." And he knows it's a lie, and that he's going against everything he is, but Dean manages a smile at this.

"Liar," he mutters, and presses his lips softly to the corner of the angel's mouth. "Nice try though."

Castiel feels frozen, tingling all over. Every part of him wants to slam Dean to the ground, press up against him, lips soft and warm against his own cold, chapped skin, but he just tenses up. Angels do not _want_, they do not _desire_. These are human fallacies, and angels are meant to be better than that. Dean is still impossibly close, face pressed into his cheek, faint scent of alcohol still lingering. "I promise we will talk about this as soon as there is time," Castiel sighs. He leans his face into the touch of Dean's lips at his ear lobe, closing his eyes. "You have ruined me, Dean Winchester."

Dean laughs at this, smelling lightly of whiskey, eyes still red. "Leave it to a Winchester to corrupt an angel," and he brushes his lips along Castiel's jaw, breathing hot and heavy, and his teeth are creeping along the skin of his neck and _this is different this is…_

Castiel pushes him off, lightly. "Dean, I do not wish to do this while you are drunk." He can't even attempt to hide the frantic speed of his voice. "If…If this is truly what you need, then we will discuss it when you are sober. Now go to sleep."

Two fingers to Dean's head and Castiel is suddenly alone, Dean safely placed somewhere at Bobby's house.

There's a tightness in his chest and in…

He groans and decides to sit in the cold Pacific tide for awhile.

* * *

><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


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